


The Disappearance of the Girl

by Natterina



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: (hopefully), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Mystery, Pre-Canon, Romance, and then post-canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:22:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natterina/pseuds/Natterina
Summary: When De Sardet disappears from her bedchambers in the middle of the night, her room is left locked from the outside, a single vial of ink at her desk, and nothing else is remotely out of the ordinary. And yet, she is gone.Or, the one where De Sardet arrives in New Serene five years before Constantin and Kurt.
Relationships: Constantin d'Orsay & De Sardet, De Sardet & Vasco (GreedFall), Kurt & Constantin d'Orsay, Kurt/De Sardet (GreedFall)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

It starts as it will end.

The heat of the ballroom is suffocating, wet humid air sticking to his skin and hair,his clothes half damp with sweat. The noise and colours are dizzying, violent reds and bright purples and forest greens swirling around as the music pounds, and Kurt feels it pulsing behind his eyelids. Bright lights from the chandeliers hurt his eyes, and the heat means the sweat from his brow only makes them sting further whenever he rubs at them. The warmth feels like cotton shoved beneath his tongue and into his cheeks, and no amount of pulling at the top of his collar alleviates the discomfort.

Somewhere, a violin scratches, and the high pitched noise makes the soldier flinch from his space by the door. Laughter ripples through the room in a soft wave, but he is not part of it. Neither a true Coin Guard nor a noble, off-duty but expected to attend for the safety of his charges, he is out of place and in the way, and all the armour in the world can’t make him feel at ease.

Constantin is in his direct line of sight, and the boy is dancing with the daughter of one of the lesser known nobles. His charm looks to be on in full swing, as his laughter rises high above the others as he spins her around in fast circles. His hands are in rather familiar places, and Kurt feels the night will not end with anything less than another scandal.

He hopes it is more interesting than the last one, though for all accounts the last scandal required hush money that was more than what Kurt makes in a _decade_. 

But his other student, usually glued to the hip of her pretty cousin, is nowhere to be seen. He has become accustomed to seeing her one step behind and to the right of Constantin at these events, so uncomfortable is she in this mass of silk and cloying perfume. De Sardet only leaves when Constantin is too far drunk to be dissuaded from his paramours, and the lad is nowhere near that drunk just yet.

A cursory glance of the ballroom tells him she is not in it, and it’s the perfect excuse to _escape_.

The difference between the ballroom and the hallway is intense, and stepping through the doors is not dissimilar to the feeling he gets when De Sardet releases him from a stasis hold. Deliciously cool air flows across his ears as the music jarringly stops with the closing of the doors, and the hallway is empty and dim, and as silent as the grave. The yellow haze from the lights disappears from his vision, and Kurt simply stands there as his eyes get used to the changing light levels.

And then, he searches. 

De Sardet has not roamed far, merely a couple of corridors away, but it as dimly lit as the one outside the ballroom. She’s standing in front of one of the huge bay windows, the wall-length ones that look over the port below, with her arms loosely crossed over her stomach. The lantern beside the window is lit, her long chestnut curls shining red in the flickering light and the frown on her face made clear to see.

The soft yellow light makes her look lovely, he privately thinks. She has a wider jaw and fuller lips than her mother and cousin, and the light only makes her naturally tan skin appear darker. The colour of her dress, a pale printed orange, highlights it even more. The soft pleats running down the back of the dress from the shoulders makes her look smaller but elegant in the window, and Kurt is torn between admiring her and chastising himself for even looking in the first place.

“How long do you intend to stand there staring, Kurt?”

_Damn_. Caught. Chastising it is, then.

“I could say the same to you, Green Blood.”

Half turning to look at him, he sees the grimace as it crosses her face. She looks contemplative, though he does not miss how tightly her fingernails press into the skin of her forearms.

“I thought to watch the comings and goings of the port.”

“Why? Not much to see from here.”

De Sardet smiles faintly, half turning to him when he steps up alongside her.

“Perhaps. In fairness, when I first came to stand here, I could see the sunset and the fishermen returning to port.”

Kurt hadn’t noticed she’d been missing for that long, but sunset was well over an hour ago. It had been much hotter in the ballroom then, when the sun was sending heat directly through all the windows in the room.

He wonders, off-handedly, who had made the design decision to stick such large windows on the sun-facing side of a _ballroom_.

“I can see how you’d find that thrilling, Green Blood.” His words are dry and sarcastic, and she reaches out to gently smack him on the arm.

“ _Oi_. It was pretty enough to see.”

“Of course.” He scoffs, and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Her eyes are fixed on the scene outside, her fingertips tapping against the skin of her forearms. Kurt simply revels in the _silence_ after so long of listening to the band inside the ballroom. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees her move, shift slightly in the flickering light and unfold her arms. The weight of the hand she presses to his upper arm is soft, but not so soft as the faint kiss she presses against his cheek.

In any other setting he would flinch away, move three steps out of her reach and chastise her for being so daft, but the dim light allows her to get away with more than he would usually allow, and there is something sad and shameful to her posture. Instead, he only turns his head to look at her, a questioning look on his face.

It must surprise her that he has not shook her off, for even though she looks sad, her eyes are locked on her hand, still resting on his bicep.

“Green Blood…” He intends it to sound like a warning, but it comes out quieter than he could ever have meant it. 

De Sardet steps closer, the heat of her body almost a fire against the thick quilt of his doublet, and the press of her lips to his is soft and searching. Kurt’s entire mind curses at him even as he lets his hand fall to the small of her back, resting in the delicate pleats of her gown. 

There could be a spark, if only he’d allow it, and it seems like that is what she is searching for. But he is not coarse enough to offer her more than he could ever give, and she is young enough to get over the sting. Gently, he grazes his knuckles over her jaw, before pushing her away. He allows her to stay close, his hand still on her back, and when he looks down at her he sees she is chewing at her lower lip.

“I can offer you nothing, Green Blood.” He traces the gold thread of her necklace down her collar, pressing down when he reaches the pearl that hangs delicately from it.

“That’s not quite true.”

“Not a life, not romance, barely a night in your bed.” For a myriad of reasons, too. The most glaringly obvious being her age, her twenty years compared to his thirty. For eight of the last ten years he has known her as nothing but a _child_ , and then a hormonal teenager, and only recently has he been able to see her as a woman. He is nothing but a boorish old soldier, still licking wounds inflicted well before he even knew of her existence, and a man unable to be affectionate with anyone.

“No, I… I know. I would not expect you to be what you aren’t." Her hand squeezes his bicep, though he’s not sure who she’s reassuring with the gesture. Outside, a firework explodes high in the sky, and it snaps them from the moment. De Sardet jumps backwards as his hold on her falls, turning fully to look out the window, but the colours are long gone. Kurt can’t quite tear his eyes from her, as she gathers her skirts and looks almost as though she has made up her mind.

“I should turn in. Tomorrow should be quite busy, I think.” She ducks her head, her smile regretful, and Kurt finds himself sidestepping in front of her, desperate to say _something_.

“I’ll walk you to your room, if you want.” Hesitant, wanting to repair any potential rift without giving false hope. De Sardet shakes her head, eyes darting to the window.

“I will be fine, Kurt, thank you. And, goodbye.” 

He steps away, letting her go, watching her silhouette as it fades to near invisibility in the darkness between candlelights.

He stays for several more minutes, contemplating the port with the smell of floral perfume still hanging in the air. It's a sweet smell that is distinctly _her_.

Sleep that night is fitful, and Kurt spends most of it tossing and turning in his sheets. There’s an uncomfortable feeling in his bones, a niggling feeling of something being _off_ , and he cannot for the life of him place a name to it. The walls of his room close in, a shadow in every corner and a thousand ghosts from his past lurking in each one.

When sleep finally claims him, Kurt sleeps longer than usual, and his arse is still in bed when his lieutenant brays on his door and tells him the Prince d’Orsay is urgently requesting his presence.

It is the biggest scandal of the season.

De Sardet is gone.

* * *

The night before the ball is a busy one, with servants running ragged trying to set up, the cook rising the moment it hits midnight to start the earliest courses for the meal, and his two charges retiring early to get their beauty sleep.

But the port is quiet, without many people milling about. Two streets away from the coin tavern and the bubble of voices and laughter and _terrible_ music can be heard over the houses, but by this point it’s a standard background noise of the town. Kurt isn’t even sure why he’s walking the streets at this time of the night, other than a wish for _silence_ that he can’t seem to find. It is hot and humid, though the breeze through the alleyways takes the edge off it slightly, and this close to port he can smell ocean brine and salt on the wind.

It soothes his pounding headache, and Kurt leans back against a wooden pallet to stare at the cloudless night sky. He is hidden at the alley entrance, the lantern across the street not quite reaching where he stands, though it is bright enough that he can see the few people who pass him by.

Fortunately, it means that De Sardet completely misses him standing there when she walks past. Her clothes are plain, a dark blouse and breeches ensuring she remains nondescript in the dimly lit streets, and her hair is loose, likely to hide the mark on her jaw from anyone who looks too closely. The hat on her head sits low, the wide brim hiding her face from those who catch her head on.

Had she not made the error of stepping through the area lit by the lantern, confident she was alone, then he would likely not have realised it was her. Kurt stands upright immediately, a sharp barb ready on his tongue about the dangers of wandering the streets drunk at night, when he realises she is far from drunk. There’s a certainty to her step, a conscious effort to tread lightly and keep herself small and inconspicuous. He knows its on purpose too, seeing as he’s spent the last decade teaching her to specifically _look_ for behaviours that everyone else would miss, to be alert for people acting too nonchalant lest they be hiding daggers ready to plunge into her back.

Curious, he follows her. Through the streets she meanders, down one alleyway and into the next with no obvious destination in sight, and Kurt cannot help but wonder what the _fuck_ she’s up to. He’s about to stop her when she breaks off, emerging on the port and heading down to the dock in front of the Naut warehouses. 

Trying to adopt that uncaring countenance, she leans against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest, and does not move for a few minutes. Kurt quietly makes his way to the level above where she is, directly opposite the entrance to the Naut's warehouse and at the top of the steps. It gives him a perfect view of her below and the dock around her.

He doesn’t have to wait long, as a young Naut lad barely the same age as her arrives from the other side of the docks. Kurt wants to roll his eyes, unable to believe he’s followed her for _this_ , a simple tryst with a sailor. He turns to go, trying to keep his own movements quiet, when he realises that the young man looks like he doesn’t even want to be there.

He stops opposite De Sardet, and all Kurt can see of him is long hair tied messily back at the top of his head, and the standard tattoos on his chin and cheeks that all Nauts seem to have, though he can’t tell the difference between the sea-born and sea-given. When he stops before De Sardet, his face is lit by the lanterns, and it’s set into a scowl.

Their whispers are quiet enough that he can’t hear what is being said, but he sees it clearly when the lad hands her a small black vial and a scrap of parchment. De Sardet nods once, and the sailor turns and strides away.

Kurt leans nonchalantly against the wooden railing, eyes on the ramp, and only speaks when De Sardet reaches the top.

“Green Blood!” The boom in his voice is worth it for the way she jumps, a scream caught in the back of her throat as she flinches away, empty hand already at the dagger on her hip.

“What the _fuck_ , Kurt?” The hand moves to her chest, where she can feel her heart thudding dangerously hard, and she swallows the pants that rise in her lungs before he can get satisfaction from them. His enjoyment at that small act dissipates quickly enough, and he frowns at her.

“If you’re going to do illicit trading in the middle of the night, you might want to be more aware of your surroundings.” 

De Sardet turns to look over the docks, and he sees the relief on her face when there is no sign of the Naut nearby.

“Did you _follow_ me?” Her eyes turn back to him, hard and angry.

“You made yourself easy to follow, Green Blood.” He points to the hand that holds the vial. “What’s in the bottle?”

She stills, and Kurt watches as her eyes dart from him to her hand, and then to the ocean behind him. He is close enough to her that he can snatch it from her if needed, and he can feel himself groaning as she smirks.

Aiming as if to try her luck launching it several metres over the railing into the water, she shifts enough that Kurt takes a step back in a futile attempt to catch whatever leaves her hand. Halfway through the throw she aborts it, her free hand pulling open the top of her blouse as she abruptly shoves the vial straight down her jumps.

There is a moment of disbelieving silence that hangs between the two of them, both of them unable to believe she has just pulled that move. Her lips quirk into a smile, but Kurt only stares and remembers to close his mouth.

“Don’t think that will stop me, Green Blood.” He goes for the bolder path, hoping to intimidate her into giving it to him, not that he’s sure he wants it now. She laughs, taking a step closer to him, and oh he knows exactly what she’s trying to do.

“ _Do it_. Maybe I even want you to.”

He will leather her arse in the training ground come morning, that he swears, because she is well aware that for all of his threats he won’t actually do it. If anyone were to see him even entertain the thought, he’d lose his hand.

“You’ll pay for this in the morning, Green Blood.”

She scoffs. 

“No I won’t. No training due to preparations for the ball, remember?”

“The day after, then.”

A funny expression crosses her face, instinctive, but she wipes it away with a smile.

“You’ll have forgotten, by then. Give it up, Kurt, we both know you’re not going to stick your hand between my breasts to get it.” And good gods, does she have to put it like that? “Much as I’d like you to.” 

There have been times in the past year when Kurt has marvelled at how she has matured, has left her childish mischief behind and grown into a beautiful young woman who can almost hold her own against him and who can seemingly navigate the whims of her uncle’s court with ease.

Then there have been times where he wants nothing more than to strangle her, when that streak of bad sarcasm and inappropriate pranks comes to light again, and he’d thoroughly enjoy the privilege of pushing her off the end of a jetty.

This is one of the latter moments.

The fact that there are several docks nearby also makes it very hard not to show her the impromptu benefits of a cold midnight bath with the fishes.

There have been thousands of worse moments, he thinks, moments where both her and her spoilt brat of a cousin would try to run circles around him in the midst of their teenage years. This is nowhere near as infuriating as those years, he reminds himself, and so Kurt only rolls his eyes and starts heading back to the palace.

Predictably, she follows. De Sardet matches his speed easily, and her diplomacy lessons must be taking to her, for she changes the subject with ease and keeps him talking all the way up the path. It is only in the courtyard when she pauses, stopping him with a hand on his forearm.

“Please don’t worry about tonight. I merely requisitioned a Naut soldier to smuggle the sap of a tree native to Teer Fradee. It would have gone bad had I left it to sit in customs the legally required time, and you know I like my alchemy.”

He does, though he can’t help but feel it’s a poor excuse. At any rate. he’s not sure it could be anything dangerous to her. There are very few dangerous things that come in small vials, and she could probably find all of them in her aunt’s parlour without even searching.

“Night, Green Blood.”

Her smile is fond as she heads towards the stairs to the second level.

“Goodnight, Kurt.”

* * *

He spends his morning spitting and cursing, running around on a wild goose chase that he can’t believe is even going on in the first place.

_Gone_.

How could she be gone? 

How does the daughter of a princess, with a noticeable mark on her face, disappear into thin air? It’s a black mark on his reputation, one of his charges going missing in the night, and the few traces left behind give them nothing of substance. Her nightclothes are left crumpled on the bed, so Kurt assumes she had returned to her bedroom after they had parted in the hallway, but the two bloodhounds allowed into her room give nothing worthy of note. The one that is given a sniff of her nightdress takes a peculiar route to the kitchens, where they find a scrap of the same fabric tied into a loose collar around a kitchen cat. They think they have a clue when the one that is given some fabric sprayed with her perfume darts off immediately, but all the hound does is meander through the corridors on an odd path, and Kurt knows it has gotten confused.

On her table lies the little black vial, empty with the cork missing, alongside a quill that looks like it had been recently dipped into the bottle. Not an alchemy item then, Kurt realises, but ink is harmless in itself and it gives them nothing to go off.

Nor does the Naut lad, for Kurt finds no trace of him at the docks. There are no shortage of young men with light hair in the Nauts, which makes it a fruitless task from the beginning. All he is told is that the lad _could_ have been on the ship which departed in the early hours of the morning, but the passenger log turns up nothing when Kurt has no name to give them.

It is as perplexing as it is mystifying. No guards saw her leave the city gates, no one saw her leave the palace, and there are no signs of any violence anywhere that could perhaps hint at her fate. He even goes to the _morgue_ , and still there is nothing.

Constantin is beside himself, taking a party of horsemen out on a search around the city every few days in desperate hope of a glimpse of his cousin. Nothing comes of it, and the boy sinks deep into melancholy at the slightest reminder of her.

Even Kurt has to admit, as much as she could annoy him at times, part of him misses her presence. His training sessions with Constantin are subdued, with no partner for the lad’s banter and no one for him to consider even making an effort for. The blond had always wanted to impress his cousin, no matter how much he might as well have hung the stars in her eyes. Even the palace is quieter, and Kurt had not realised how much he could constantly hear her, be it her arguing with Constantin, laughing with her mother, the sound of her lessons filtering through an open window.

And, of course, he cannot forget her attempt at kissing him. De Sardet had been disappointed that night, but enough to flee the city? No, Kurt knows that cannot have been the reason for her disappearance. If he had known what was to come, and kissed her anyway, he feels that the morning would have only brought more pain at her inevitable disappearance.

There are no leads, and there are no clues. De Sardet cannot have left through the gates, but she cannot have left via the port. She may have been taken, but little suspicious activity was reported the night of the ball, and no body has yet turned up.

But, _how?_

* * *

Time goes ever on, as the days roll into weeks and into months. Soon a year has passed, and then two, but they change little as the passage of time settles into their bones. 

Constantin is older but no more wiser, still the impetuous and defiant hothead who challenges his father’s every word. With no De Sardet to cool her cousin’s temper or to drag him out of arguments, Constantin ends up in far more close calls than he had before. It is up to Kurt to pull him out of them, but he has never had a way with words, and on some occasions their swords have been drawn and blood spilled.

Sometimes he forgets, though they are rare. One morning, over two years after she has gone, he meets Constantin in the courtyard for his training sessions, and is stuck in an awkward moment when the blond asks why he is dawdling and waiting around. It makes Kurt realise with a pang that he had been waiting for De Sardet, and he hates those moments the most. The floor might as well disappear from underneath him, the feeling is so strong, and it takes even longer for him to admit that it’s not just her presence he misses.

He misses _her_. 

She had been a bastard at times, of course, but she had also been friendly and kind, the type of woman who was always ready to help. He has always felt lonely, lingering on the edge of the Prince d’Orsay’s court as the master of arms, but when one half of his daily human contact had disappeared, the walls started to close in a little more.

People talk, of course they do, and the stories are as outlandish as they are entertaining. Some say she has appeared in various foreign lands with a husband, either rich or poor depending on the source of the rumour. Others say she has become a priestess in Theleme, a scientist in Hikmet, or a prostitute in some lonely village. The only one Kurt actually gives some thought to is the rumour that she has opened an alchemy shop in Al Saad, but the Prince d’Orsay rules that out within a month of it surfacing.

Constantin spends a whole evening getting blind drunk when he struggles to remember just how she looked, and the exact sound of her voice. Even Kurt finds it a bitter moment, when he tries to get the younger man to stop drinking and realises that he too can’t quite remember. Her eyes were dark but gods, what colour were they? How had he never noticed? His final memory of her burns behind his eyelids sometimes, beautiful and silhouetted by the candlelight, but no matter how hard he looks he is certain that it begins to fade with time.

And so on they go, cycling through hot summers and cool winters, as the memory of her leaves them a little more each year.

* * *

The morning is a quiet and warm one, and Kurt’s schedule is blissfully empty after he sends Constantin away when their lesson ends.

He stands in the one corner of the courtyard that gets the sun, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his face tilted up towards the heat. It warms him through to the bones, but it’s a pleasant feeling that sends goosebumps up his arms beneath his shirt. Most of his armour has been removed, and the warm stone presses hard against his spine.

It’s almost beatific, after what has been an unusually cold spring. The stress of the last six months seeps into the wall behind him, the tension of the household the cause of a constant headache throbbing at the back of his skull.

Rumours have been swirling since autumn of the popularity of Lady Morange in New Serene. Her dealings with the natives of Teer Fradee has supposedly been remarkably smooth, alongside the surprisingly cordial relations fostered between the Merchant Congregation and her allies on the island. It has made the Prince d’Orsay uncomfortable, his wife paranoid, and his son miserable and prone to more fits of erratic behaviour. There are whispers of defection, of New Serene attempting to become a self-governed city, and the Prince d’Orsay has spent months trying to find out more information.

There is little available of that, simply due to how slow communication is between the island and Serene.

As winter had rolled into spring, the Princess De Sardet had grown sick, weakness taking over her body and confining her to her rooms. It had been clear from the start that the malichor had finally gotten to her, the first of the royals to be struck down.

Kurt hopes that summer will bring lighter days in more ways than one, though the sudden pounding of booted feet on the stone steps above him quickly disavow him of that notion.

Constantin’s face is thunderous as he enters the courtyard, completely ignoring Kurt as he takes a blunted training sword from the ground and launches himself at the nearest dummy. The blade glints as it arcs through the air gracefully, but hits the wood at an awkward angle and bounces back off. Constantin either does not notice or does not care, swinging the sword furiously in a vain attempt to hack it to pieces.

Kurt stares.

Constantin grunts from the exertion as he takes out his frustration on the dummy, and Kurt wonders what the fuck could have possibly happened in the ten minutes between Constantin walking away, and _this_.

The thwacking sound of the metal hitting the wood makes Kurt a little ill, especially at seeing the man in such bad form. He is attacking with his emotions, but Kurt wants to correct him if this is what it does to his posture and his form. He’s not an idiot, however, so he wisely keeps his mouth shut until Constantin inhales a slow and ragged breath. 

“Done?”

As if to make a point, Constantin throws the sword one last time at the dummy. It bounces off and clatters to the floor.

“Done.”

Kurt’s impressed at the fervour, if not the execution.

“Care to tell me what that was about?”

“Not really, no.” 

Kurt lifts an eyebrow in warning, and Constantin sighs.

“They’re sending me to New Serene. I’m to be the new governor.” 

He kicks himself off the wall, away from his beloved sunshine, and steps closer to the younger man. “I thought you’d be happy about that? It’s a chance for you to be away from here, after all.” 

It’s curious, he thinks, that for a lad so desperate to get away from Serene and his father’s iron fist, Constantin is hesitant about this.

“I am happy, I just. I don’t know. I don’t know!” With no sword in his hand, Constantin petulantly kicks the dummy, and then quickly learns why Kurt has never allowed him to do that before. “Fuck!”

“Might want to put some salve on that.”

“Kurt, are you here for a reason, or is your sole purpose to stand there making stupid jokes?” And _ouch_ , it looks like the kitten is baring his claws. 

“You walked into my training grounds and started smacking the shit out of my dummies, not the other way around. What’s this really about?” Kurt crosses his arms and shifts his stance, and it’s enough to make Constantin roll his eyes at the seriousness of it.

“Nothing. It’s… stupid, really.” The hot air deflates out of the blond as the tension in his shoulders leaves him. “What if I leave for this, and then my cousin returns?”

Small chance of that happening, Kurt thinks to himself. If the news of her mother’s malichor hadn’t brought her home, he thinks, nothing will. He is of the belief that she is dead, though how or where he could not say, and it’s an opinion he will never speak aloud in front of Constantin.

“I think she would follow you to Teer Fradee, were that the case.” 

Constantin’s answering smile is a weak one, a far cry from his usual pomp and bluster, and it’s a startlingly vulnerable moment. It creates a conflict in Kurt, having to keep his mouth shut about the recent letters from the Commander that are locked in the bottom of his trunk. He could warn them all now and be free of the potential guilt, but then how long would it be until he was found dead in an alley near the Coin Tavern, and someone more loyal takes his place? And the position that came with the reward _was_ a good one.

“Thank you, Kurt.”

The words break him out of his thoughts, and Kurt is as surprised at hearing them as Constantin is at saying them. He has little to say to that, so he kicks the sword on the floor towards the lad as he claps him on the shoulder.

“Don't thank me, that sword-swinging was atrocious. If that display is how you fight when you’re angry, then you’re in big fucking trouble.”

* * *

Three days before they sail for Teer Fradee, the Princess De Sardet dies.

Black drapes the city in a suffocating blanket, and they’re not just mourning the death of their Princess, but also the hundreds upon thousands who have already succumbed to the malichor. The smoke from the pyres is as sour as the tang of fear at the back of everyone’s throats, and the streets only get dirtier and more dangerous. People lie dying in the streets if they’re _lucky_ , and the atmosphere only reminds Kurt of a large bomb ready to go off. Even the wind smells sick, though thankfully less so as they move into autumn, and the sun stops overheating the blood and vomit left in the dirtiest alleyways.

Every bone in his body reacts to it, the atmosphere and the smell and the _dead_ , and Kurt takes the proposed move to New Serene with his charge without hesitation. Funny, he thinks, how a city makes clear that it’s time to go.

But go they will, though Kurt hides a letter from the Princess De Sardet inside his inner breast pocket. It is addressed to Lady Morange, with the stipulation that Kurt not open it. He won’t deny there is a curiosity burning inside him, almost desperate to see what words his charge’s aunt wants to write to his predecessor in New Serene, but he is trying to be honourable and there is no honour in ignoring the last wishes of a dying woman.

Her death had been awful to witness, though he had not been present for her actual final hours. But their meeting had been as private as she could allow it when she passed him the envelope, and Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever seen a woman throw up so much blood in such a short space of time. He certainly hasn’t ever seen someone throw up blood as black as night, either.

At the port, surprisingly on time despite Constantin’s incessant need to wind people up and back himself into corners, the Naut Captain looks at them with eyes that are more curious than suspicious, though there is no friendliness in the expression.

“I’m surprised you’re on schedule.” So is Kurt, if he’s honest. All minor jobs had been done by Sir de Courcillon the day before: all Kurt had to do was show up on time with the new governor. “Let’s not waste any time, the next ship from Teer Fradee is due soon, and I’d like to be out of dock by that point.”

Kurt agrees, especially since he’s heard the rumours of the latest ships carrying huge beasts beyond what they can even imagine. Constantin follows Vasco eagerly, a close step behind, and the Naut captain looks rather like his patience is being stretched thin at the man’s enthusiasm.

Kurt can only roll his eyes when Constantin all but dances up the gangway. For the first time in years, he looks truly free.

* * *

By the time they dock in Teer Fradee, Kurt is ready to disembark after far too many months at sea. How he managed to not throw up _once_ is a true mystery to him, but the sight of land mere metres away almost makes his damn mouth water. 

Constantin stands next to him as they wait for the gangway to be lowered, pointedly avoiding looking at the group of people at the end of the dock who wait for them.

“You ready?” Kurt keeps his voice quiet, his arms crossed over his chest, eagerly awaiting a world that doesn’t sway.

“As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” He pulls at the front of his fine coat, the anxiety well hidden beneath a confident smile, but still there.

Kurt lets him go ahead once Vasco nods his approval of them leaving his ship, and Constantin strides down the planks and onto the wooden docks with a joyous grin. Kurt follows, immediately feeling strange the moment he steps onto solid land. He takes a moment to adjust, ignoring Constantin as the two doctors swarm him with their bowls.

“Cat got your tongue, gentlemen? Would it be those _annoying_ beaks?” He hears the irritation in his charge’s voice and forces himself to concentrate, trying to ignore the now-ingrained need to sway on ground that is solid and unmovable.

The strangled cry that leaves Constantin’s throat is what truly grabs his attention. 

Kurt can see little, swarmed as the blond is by the doctors, but his hand does go to his sword when he sees Constantin violently push both men away, knocking their bowls to the ground. But his attention is not on them, nor is it on Lady Morange as she begins to speak. 

No, Constantin’s gaze is on the woman standing confidently by the barrels at the end of the dock, watching them with a carefully schooled expression of neutrality. Skin tanned by the sun, with her chestnut hair many shades lighter for the same reason, she stands there in fine clothes that are clearly travel-worn. With her hair tied up into a practical wrap-around braid she is almost unrecognisable.

_Almost_.

Kurt feels his mouth go dry as his brain tries to register what he’s seeing, so far removed from what he had ever expected to be possible. If not for the shaky step forward that Constantin takes, he’d be certain he’s hallucinating.

Because there, at the end of the dock, is De Sardet.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the delay in this second chapter - one and three were a breeze to write but I struggled with this one! Didn't want De Sardet to seem like she'd accomplished so much on her own, but equally didn't want her to have sat on her arse and done nothing for four years!

For De Sardet, it starts in the parlour of her mother’s rooms, twenty days before she leaves Serene.

Princess De Sardet chatters away to both her daughter and her lady’s maid, as De Sardet rifles through her mother’s jewellery box in search of a suitable necklace for the upcoming party. She pulls open one of the drawers, finding it oddly stiff, and is surprised when she finds a strange trinket inside.

Lifting it out gently, she traces her fingers over the engravings, realising it is a medallion of some sorts. It is like nothing she has ever seen before, and she turns to face her mother with a curious question on her lips.

The silence that greets her is deafening, and she feels her heart drop into her stomach at the knowledge that she has stumbled across something she was never meant to find.

The Princess De Sardet slowly lowers her cup onto the saucer sitting on the table, and the clatter of the china gives away the shaking of her hands.

“Elissa, please inform my daughter’s instructors that she will not be attending her lessons this afternoon.” Her mother’s eyes do not leave the medallion in De Sardet’s hands, and for a moment the only sound is that of the lady’s maid leaving the room in a hurry. Uneasiness wraps itself around her like a blanket as her mother slowly approaches her, covering her hands with both of her own and leading her back over to the settees.

It takes an hour for the whole story to be told, as De Sardet’s world falls down around her.

-

“I believe I am owed this, at the very least.”

De Sardet keeps her face neutral, her stance confident, exactly how she has been taught in her hundreds of hours of diplomacy lessons.

Across from her, Admiral Cabral purses her lips in a way that tells De Sardet she’d be subject to a thrashing had she only been the naut she was supposedly meant to be.

“And say my ship leaves port with a young royal stowaway onboard, how do you suppose I avoid the diplomatic incident that will follow?”

“No one has to know.” She keeps her voice hard, almost desperate. “No one will come after you.”

Cabral idly makes a marking on her charts, but the lack of an outright no gives De Sardet hope.

“I would need more assurance than the word of the woman who is trying to run away in the first place.”

“I think you owe it to my mother.”

Cabral leans forward, her patience tested, and her words are unkind but true. “The noble, or the native?”

De Sardet reaches into the pocket of her jacket, her fingers grasping at the cool metal of the medallion resting within. She is careful with it as she removes it, resting it on the table directly in front of Cabral.

There is a long moment of silence as the older woman stares at the small but distinctive circle of metal sitting on top of her maps. De Sardet can’t see her eyes from where she stands above and opposite her, but the quiet is almost an answer in itself. She too had been awed when she first looked at it, the weaving pattern stamped into the metal one she had never seen before.

Crucially, Cabral is not looking at it as though it’s the first time she’s seen it. Tilting her head up, she makes eye contact with De Sardet, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“My ship leaves in eighteen days. If you are not on it, then you’re not going anywhere. I’ll send a lad with instructions.”

Eighteen days is so pitifully close that she almost opens her mouth to protest, but the Admiral shoots her a look that brokers no room for argument. And so instead, she nods only once, swiping the amulet from the desk and striding away before Cabral can change her mind.

-

De Sardet leans against the wall at the docks with feigned indifference, her head tilted low but her eyes peeled for any sign of the unpleasant naut that she has been dealing with the last few days.

She is confident that she has not been followed from the palace, but there is every chance that someone in the town will recognise her. She is confident, though, as the nobles of Serene don’t tend to spend late nights at the port.

From the direction of the Naut lodgings a shadow emerges, and De Sardet frowns at the sight of Vasco. She has only spoken to him a handful of times as he passes on messages from Cabral, but he clearly doesn’t approve of the plan to smuggle her out of Serene if his disposition on each of those meetings is anything to go by.

True to form, there’s a scowl on his face when he stops before her.

“Lovely to see you too, Vasco.”

This close, she can see the way his jaw tenses, a sharp reply only barely held in.

“No one followed you?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Vasco doesn’t respond, instead reaching into the pocket of his jacket and fishing out a small black vial and a folded piece of parchment. He tosses it to her.

“Here. Cabral says fill in the lines and press it to your chin. It was done by one of our tattooists, so it should be enough to fool most people. It stays on for three days though, so I’d make sure your lines are straight if I were you. We’ll set off a firework from the docks at around ten in the evening. If you’re not here by midnight, then we leave without you.”

De Sardet only nods, forcing down the well of fear that threatens to bubble up each time she thinks of it. She has less than twenty-four hours here, and she wonders where she will be in two days, a week, a _month_.

Vasco turns on his heel without so much as a goodbye, disappearing into the darkness near the lodgings. De Sardet turns to make her own exit, the vial warm in her hands. There is a lot to do over the next day, and little practical time to do it.

She is barely at the top of the steps when she sees a shadow move out of the corner of her eye.

“Green Blood!”

De Sardet _barely_ holds in her scream.

* * *

The scene from the window is truly a lovely one, a vivid orange bleeding slowly into a deep purple, and De Sardet almost wishes she had some artistic skill, if only to immortalise the view with oils and a canvas.

It’s a pretty sight for her last evening in Serene.

Two hours after the firework, Vasco had told her. If she is not there on the docks before then, then she will not be leaving at all. Her heart feels heavy, fear gripping it every time she sees a bird fly too fast near a ship, mistaking it for the signal that will change everything.

She has spent the last hour roaming the hallways with her perfume bottle hidden deep inside her skirts, removing the stopper every now and then and allowing the drops to fall into the pleats of the curtains, behind fancy vases and along the wood of portrait frames.

But now, De Sardet waits.

The heat of summer is immense, and the hallway provides little in the way of fresh air, though she imagines it is even worse in the ballroom. When she had left, minutes after food had finished being served, she was close to collapsing from the heat and the dancing hadn’t even truly started yet. At one point she does bring out her fan, but finds that all it does is wave warm air around her face, and makes her hotter from the effort to do it.

When the sun disappears beyond the ocean, and with it the last of the heated rays, she finds that her discomfort lessens. It is nice, she thinks, to stand and watch the harbour and the city below, the sky growing ever darker as the heat in the hallway lessens slightly, and her stays stop creating a sticky heat across her front. The distant sound of violins filters through the hallways, and she cannot bear to think of how hot it must be inside that horrific ballroom.

Footsteps behind her jolt her from her reverie, but they stop a few paces away. From the heaviness of the steps, made by the weight of metal boots as opposed to fancy fabric, she guesses that it is Kurt. De Sardet finds that she straightens automatically, her arms suddenly not quite comfortable as she holds them crossed loosely over her stomach. Something shivers down her spine as she feels the weight of his gaze on her, and De Sardet wishes that he was on her other side, where the mark on her face is not visible.

A minute passes where he does not speak. De Sardet allows a small smile to twist at her lips, and she lifts her chin with confidence she doesn’t possess at this moment.

“How long do you intend to stand there staring, Kurt?”

They trade banter for only a few minutes before the silence descends again, but it is a comfortable one. There is a part of her that wants to break it, perhaps even tell him of her mad plan to flee. She wonders if he would stop her, if his wage would come before his loyalty to her.

A romantic part of her wants to tell him only in the hopes that he would beg her to stay, but she is no longer a foolish teenager. Kurt is not a man of pretty words and grand promises, and she reminds herself that to him she is barely more than a child.

But still, she can say goodbye in her own way, even if it is a cheeky one.

Unfolding her arms, she reaches out to touch his bicep, trying to memorise the feel of him beneath her fingers. Kurt watches her carefully out of the corner of his eye, and De Sardet can almost feel the alarm that tenses his whole body when she presses her lips to his cheek.

“Green Blood…”

But De Sardet only looks at him sadly, because this is not what he thinks it is, no flirtatious attempt to get him into her bedroom. It is a goodbye that he will not understand until she is gone.

Whether he realises it or not, despite the warning in his words, Kurt has already begun to unconsciously lean toward her, following her movement as she pulled away from his cheek.

To hell with it, she thinks, and leans up plant a kiss on his lips. It is the first and last time she will ever get the chance, and she can _feel_ the potential behind it. His hand is heavy when she feels it land on the folds of the back of her dress, and he does not respond to her kiss.

She would almost believe he did not want to, if not for the hand at her back, and the careful way he pushes her away. It is tightly controlled, held back with logic and his own doubts, but there is a small part of him that could have responded in kind.

The gentle graze of his knuckles along her jaw cements it. His hand still rests in the folds of her dress, making no attempt to get her to release her hold on his arm. No matter his misunderstanding, at least she has had this.

She only half-heartedly argues with him when he quietly tells her, disappointment in his own voice, that he can offer her nothing. She is too busy listening, well aware that with her eyes on him she cannot watch the sky. De Sardet is squeezing his arm almost in comfort when, _finally_ , she hears the distinctive sound of a firework exploding.

Stepping away and out of his grasp with a feigned sound of surprise, she turns her head to see, but the colours are already gone. But it _had_ been a firework. The time to go is _now_ , no matter how much she feels the absence of his hand at her back.

Feigning embarrassment, De Sardet ducks her head. “I should turn in. Tomorrow should be quite busy, I think.”

Kurts nods in agreement with her, and the secretive part of her almost wants to tell him he doesn’t even know the half of it. He feels sorry for her though, that much is obvious when he offers to walk her to her room. He is trying to heal any rift that may arise between them, but none of that _matters_.

A sharp pang of fear goes through her, knowing that if he walks her to her room then she will have to walk straight there, and part of her plan might as well be thrown out of the window.

“I will be fine, Kurt, thank you. And, goodbye.”

She watches him take a step back, victorious, and he returns her sad smile with one that is unreadable. De Sardet nods only once before she takes her leave.

-

The darkness in the corridors does not slow her down, so accustomed to the winding corridors of the palace is she. Even as she hurries away from Kurt there is a bitter sting of nostalgia, the knowledge that come morning this place will only ever exist for her in her memories. Years of them, of running down the hallways covered in dirt and sand, sticky fingers trailing across expensive wallpaper changing into dirt tracked through the rugs and wooden floors.

Constantin always by her side and, later, Kurt as well.

Around the corner, once she is certain that Kurt has not followed her, she begins to pick up her pace, conscious of the time. Her only delay is the odd route she takes back to her rooms, nipping through a servant’s corridor on the way and emerging behind a tapestry at the end of her corridor.

Once inside, De Sardet immediately begins to strip, unlacing her gown and pulling the stomacher free to throw into the basket by her bed. The dress she is more careful with, draping it over the chair as is her usual custom, before the petticoats and the pockets join the stomacher in the basket. She only stops to remove her perfume, placing it in clear view on her desk.

The kitchen cat that she’d allowed to sleep on the end of her bed earlier in the evening watches her carefully, laid out across her nightgown as he is. It doesn’t take her long to throw on the sailor’s outfit that Vasco had left hidden for her several days earlier, and once it’s on she moves to the bed to shift the comfortable cat from his spot.

The cat is an affectionate little thing, standing there obediently as she rumples her bedding up before ripping off a strip of fabric from the hem of her nightdress. She twists it into a loose collar, tying it around the cat’s neck before she gently pushes him towards the door. The cat leaves with a low meow and, hopefully, begins to spread the smell from her bedroom around the corridors.

Her satchel is already packed with the few possessions she dare take with her, and once that is slung over her shoulder all that remains is the tricky issue of the tattoo.

The stencil is on her desk, the small vial of black ink sitting next to it.

It should be easy, but it’s the last step she needs to take, the one that makes the difference between her staying and going. It only takes a minute to carefully go over the lines on the parchment, and lightly at that. De Sardet looks into the mirror of her vanity table, wary as she holds the parchment steadily between her fingers.

Gulping in a breath, she presses it hard against her chin, stamping the design onto her skin. It is only faint when she pulls it away, leaving her to redo the lines with her quill and the remainder of the ink. The stencil she throws into the fireplace, watching to ensure the flames turn all of the parchment to ash.

Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she frowns. The design is good enough to fool every non-naut she comes across, but any sailor worth their salt will recognise on sight that the tattoo is false. That matters little, however, for all that she worries.

Come morning, she won’t need the false tattoo, and she’ll be long enough gone that anyone who recognises her won’t be able to do much about it.

De Sardet leaves her room with only the briefest of glances behind her, still conscious of the time and the need to _go_.

Distantly, she can still hear the music from the ballroom, so De Sardet takes the quiet corridors until she reaches the hallway where she knows the family’s evacuation passage lies. Three suits of armour stand in front of a large tapestry, behind which is a door only four of them have the keys to.

She pauses only once, on the other side of the door. The key is in the lock, ready for her to turn it, when fear seizes her heart so badly that her throat constricts. What on earth is she _thinking_ , fleeing from her home in the middle of the night? Everyone she has ever loved is _here_ , and she is doing them the disservice of disappearing on them with no explanation. How can she do this to Constantin? To Kurt? Her uncle and her small circle of friends?

The lock slides shut as De Sardet takes in a deep breath, swallowing thickly despite the ache in her throat.

-

The ship leaves on time, De Sardet safely stowed away on board with no one the wiser besides from Vasco and Cabral. Vasco stands next to her as the lights of Serene become distant, only glimmer on the water as the ship sails away.

“If you start swimming now, you might make it to shore before you drown.”

It’s the first humorous thing he’s said to her, and De Sardet swallows her laugh.

“And deprive myself of three months in your lovely company? Perish the thought.” She leans forward, folding her arms on the taffrail, and the wind is cool on her cheeks. To think, two hours earlier she’d been wafting warm air around with a ridiculous fan.

“Hope you’re not planning on sitting on your arse for those three months, De Sardet. Might as well jump now if so.”

There is something under the sarcasm, a touch of bitterness, but De Sardet makes herself ignore it in favour of keeping her gaze on the lights.

There had been a moment on the docks, with one foot on the gangway and the other on the solid stone of the port, when she had turned for one final look at the palace. High up on the hill and domineering over the port, the lights in the ballroom were still blazing, and she had wondered how to do it.

How to turn away, to close the door? To go where she has never gone before, a new world and a new life far from everything and everyone she has ever known? Was Constantin still in the ballroom, flirting outrageously with one of Kurt’s officers? Who would first notice her absence?

And mostly, how to leave her homeland, the rivers, the forests, each corner of Serene that she knows better than most of its citizens. Stepping fully onto the gangway had felt almost like dragging her feet through quicksand.

As Vasco shifts beside her, his arms crossed over his chest, she remembers to answer.

For a moment she thinks of antagonising him further, biting back with another sarcastic reply, but she does not want to be at odds with Cabral’s first mate, and part of her thinks she could really use a friend.

“I’ll work hard, I promise.”

* * *

And work hard she does.

When they land in New Serene three months later, De Sardet feels almost like a different woman. The first few weeks had been _hard_ , with every muscle in her body aching right down to her bones, her hands split open with forming calluses and rope burn. But the calluses had healed, De Sardet had grown stronger, and even Vasco had to grudgingly admit that she had put the effort in.

She says her goodbyes to Vasco with a shoulder hug that he gives reluctantly, an uneasy friendship between them that mostly consists of alcohol and bitchy arguments that make them laugh. Her money pouch is still full, so she follows Cabral’s instructions on finding out her mother’s name, and off into Teer Fradee she goes.

It is not what she imagined, the clan that birthed her mother both friendlier and more guarded than she had expected, and though she is not turned away she is not invited straight in, either. Ullan gives her the answers she had wanted, but she knows that trust is not an easy thing, and that she more than needs to prove herself before they will tell her more.

So one month after she arrives, De Sardet decides that her diplomacy training really does need to put to good use, and off to the Governor’s Mansion she goes.

-

Lady Morange has always been one of the most amenable people De Sardet has ever met, always able to charm with a friendly smile and the offer of a chat. During her teenage years, De Sardet had admired that easy grace, the ability she had of flitting through the crowd at a ball and being on such friendly terms with everyone she came across.

She was close to twenty years old when she realised that Morange’s greatest skill was not her charm or her grace, it was her ability to use it to hide her true opinion of those she spoke and made deals with.

Sitting before her in the office of the governor’s mansion, De Sardet cannot for the life of her figure out what Morange is thinking.

Eyes crinkling at the corners with the lift of her cheeks, her smile friendly and disarming, Morange is merely nodding politely at every word out of De Sardet’s mouth. Her plan is a good one, or at least she thinks it is, but the caveat of the necessary lie to the Prince d’Orsay is a make-or-break condition, and De Sardet cannot tell Morange’s opinion of it.

Until she stops speaking, and Morange breaks in immediately.

“Let me just be clear about this, Lady De Sardet. You would like me to hire you as my Legate, a post that is conveniently empty at this moment. You have travelled here under the false identity of Lady De Montfort, as the real Lady De Montfort has decided her future lies with the Nauts. I’m sorry, I am very much struggling to understand what you are trying to play here.”

De Sardet leans back in her chair, her fingers wrapped tightly around the china teacup in her hands. Morange has yet to take her eyes off her, and De Sardet is beginning to feel a light sweat under her arms.

“I simply want to live, well away from the far-reaching grasp of my uncle. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Yes, my dear, I certainly understand that. What I _don’t_ understand is how helping you hide away here will be more beneficial than telling your uncle the truth. Surely, you can see that if word gets back to Serene about your presence here, I will be in a rather precarious position?”

De Sardet gently places the tea cup back onto its saucer, noiselessly as she has been taught.

“Lady Morange, surely you know that my uncle would eventually send my cousin here to be governor? Who do you think was given years of diplomacy and negotiation training in order to support him? I am hardly some vapid noblewoman who spends her days with embroidery and menu planning. I can be a very helpful asset to you.”

Morange places her own cup down with slightly more force, her eyes narrowed at De Sardet. She knows there is truth in De Sardet’s words, that there is no noble here with half her training. But still, there is doubt, and De Sardet straightens.

“I may also be able to broker relations with the islanders. Surely it has not escaped your notice that many of the people of Teer Fradee bear the same mark as I do on their faces?”

Morange leans forwards.

“Lady De Sardet, if I take this risk, I want the _whole_ story.”

De Sardet obliges.

Morange hires her as her Legate.

And back out she goes.

* * *

“On a scale of Derdre to Ullan, how would you say that meeting went?”

The mercenary with her does not respond, not understanding the joke. It has been an hour since they left the village of Vedrhais, and her Coin Guard companion has not spoken a word, leaving De Sardet to break the silence. They’re walking along a river bank, heading south back to New Serene: the sound of the running water is soothing to De Sardet, and the silence of her companion until now has made it easy to listen out for anything amiss.

By this point, De Sardet is almost certain that the odd cracking of twigs heard just behind the sound of the river is the footsteps of a lone person following them.

“What will you do now, my lady?” The guard’s voice is loud, making De Sardet flinch.

Brilliant, _now_ she chooses to become chatty.

Stopping in her tracks, De Sardet holds a hand out to stop the Coin Guard.

Another branch snaps in the undergrowth.

“If you listen carefully, soldier, you will notice we are being followed.”

The sound of a blade being drawn is like thunder in the quiet that has overtaken them, but De Sardet grabs the woman’s forearm before she can bare it threateningly in the direction of the tree line.

“Don’t. If they were a threat, they would have killed us by now.”

As if on cue, a thin wiry branch snaps up and wrenches the sword from the guard’s hand and tosses it gently into the underbrush.

They stand in silence for nearly a minute, the guard tenser than a bow string and only half a step in front of her. To their utter surprise, a young woman steps out from the trees, one hand half raised and glowing green.

De Sardet recognises her immediately as the young _doneigad_ from the village who had watched them so intently.

“Why have you been following us?” De Sardet keeps her voice calm, trying to run through any of the reasons the woman has followed them. Up close, and in better lighting, she can see that the _doneigad_ is only barely a woman, certainly no older than nineteen. As she approaches she lowers her hand, the green fizzing out as she does so.

“I heard you speak at the village. There was truth in your words.”

De Sardet straightens, pulling at the bottom of her jacket as she does so. “There was never any intention of deceit behind what I said.”

The woman frowns.

“No, that is not what I meant. I agree with some of your words. This… Bridge Alliance, they hound us. I have heard that the Vígnámrí have been left alone since they began to trade with your people.”

De Sardet holds back a grimace, privately thinking that Ullan’s clan hasn’t _quite_ been left alone, and if it has it probably has more to with with how he eagerly allies himself with both New Serene _and_ Hikmet.

“We have an understanding with the Bridge Alliance, but the Congregation of Merchants will defend their allies. Hikmet knows that if they attack the village of Vígnámrí, they will be attacked in kind.” De Sardet keeps her voice firm, but there is a part of her that knows this only holds true for now. Hikmet was the first city on Teer Fradee, but the Bridge Alliance is still very much finding its feet. As their power on the island grows, De Sardet is certain they will begin to test the loyalty of the Congregation to the islanders. “This is also true for San Mateus, those who you call mind shakers.”

The breeze that had been light before picks up as the woman takes a step closer, her eyes fixed on De Sardet with a close scrutiny that almost frightens her. Ridiculously, she imagines the woman summoning that vine and throttling her with it.

A moment passes, and the woman nods.

“I wish to come with you. My mother will not trust you until she sees that you have no plans to take what you want with force, but I want to see for myself what you are really up to. I am Siora.” The words are ominous and slightly threatening, thrumming with distrust. De Sardet daren’t tell her that what she _really_ wants is some secure trade contracts, as that would ruin the suspense.

De Sardet opens her mouth to speak, and then freezes.

“Your _mother?_ Then you are a princess?”

Siora stares at her blankly.

-

“I had heard of the _on ol menawi_ who dressed like a _renaigse._ I did not think you _were_ a _renaigse_.”

There is little De Sardet can say to that other than the truth, and the Coin Guard mercenary has wandered off to bathe. “My mother was the _doneigad_ for Ullan’s clan, the _Sísaíg cnámeis_.” She hopes she has pronounced it correctly: she had spent a while with Ullan ensuring she could. “She was taken from here before I was born, and I was raised in Serene. Even though both of my parents were from Teer Fradee, I am a _renaigse.”_

For her part, Siora looks saddened, but not surprised. “There are stories of such things amongst many of the clans. Your mother’s story is not unknown to me. Vígnámrí suffered much when they lost their _doneigad_ , and the warriors who survived trying to defend her could not last long against the other clans.”

De Sardet nods in agreement. “That is what I was told by my mother’s sister, the current _doneigad_.”

There is a flash of surprise that crosses the younger woman’s face, lit up by the fire as she prods it with a stick. “The _Sísaíg cnámeis_ , they have accepted you?”

De Sardet sighs.

“No, I wouldn’t go that far. They were uncertain of me, at first. Ullan was eager to trade with us, and when he found out that I was a descendant of his clan he was pleased, but I think that was because it made a trade agreement far easier when he had information about my parents to exchange for a good agreement. But he was honest with me and the clan. They don’t trust me, and I’m not quite sure they ever will, but they do not seem as alarmed by my presence as they did at first. I had not realised they were hiding the children from my group until my third or fourth visit, and even now they aren’t permitted to speak to me. But the traders are always happy to see me.” Indeed, despite the irritation of it, she is always pleased to hear one of the merchants shout ‘ _oh it’s you, on ol menawi’_ whenever she crosses into the village.

At least _he_ is always happy to see her.

* * *

On the whole, by the end of De Sardet’s second year in New Serene, she likes to think she has made somewhat of a difference.

There are still tensions between everyone on the island, with Hikmet and San Matheus testing the boundaries of New Serene every few months. The natives still trust no one, though their relationship with New Serene is tentative and likely would not exist if not for the mark on her face and the heritage of her mother. The clans do not exactly trust her, but a small number of them are more open to working with her than they would likely have been with any other noble from New Serene.

Ullan’s clan has the best relationship, solely due to the trade between the clan and the city, and so far it is _only_ the people of Vígnámrí who visit New Serene. Dunncas’ clan is wary of New Serene, but there is still active trade between them, albeit it is mostly made up of middle-men or one or two people making the journey to the city. Dunncas trades in knowledge as well, reaching an agreement with the farmers and the loggers on the best way to grow their crops _and_ respect nature alongside it.

Bladnid allies with them only because an alliance protects her clan from interference by Hikmet, and there is no trust on her side of things. Bladnid does, however, tolerate the whims of her youngest daughter, which De Sardet is immensely grateful for: she would not have been half as successful in her dealings with the people of Teer Fradee without Siora, and probably even less so had it been any other _doneigad_. Siora has taught her much, and together they make an odd but formidable team.

And so when the day rolls around that marks the beginning of her third year in New Serene, De Sardet is pleased to think that she has few regrets, and none at all to do with leaving Serene.

* * *

The full moon is high above the ocean, illuminating the port with a bright light that almost takes De Sardet’s breath away. It has been too many months since she has last sat down and appreciated her surroundings, and tonight is one of the rare occasions she is free to do so.

The soft lull of the waves lapping against the wooden beams of the jetties is calming enough that, without any distractions, she could almost fall asleep to the sound. New Serene is silent in a way that Serene never could be, settling like a blanket over the city once the sun has set on the horizon. Even now it is quiet, though the city gives off a soft glow behind them that helps them to see.

Tonight is an occasion that neither her nor her companion like to admit to, a rare meeting that occurs only thrice a year if they’re lucky. Vasco has spent the last few years either sailing near to New Serene or on long slogs to Al Saad and Theleme. The most recent of his assignments has been a short patrol around the island, and so De Sardet is lucky that this is the second time in three months that she has seen him.

They don’t like to admit that they’re almost friends, no matter how odd it would seem that a sailor would spend his last night on land with a woman he claims to dislike. Usually they meet at the port near sunset, and drink into the night whilst swapping updates of their lives.

Now, though, they’re sitting on the platform where the naut’s tattooist tends to spend his days, leaning against opposite wooden beams with their positions mirrored. De Sardet bends one leg up as the other swings down to the floor, holding her steady in place as she rests her head on the beam behind her. One hand is loosely curled into a fist on her knee, the other hanging down. Vasco is a little more upright, mostly due to the bottle of wine that he takes periodic swigs from, but he is still relaxed.

Her eyes are on the ocean, the soothing rise and fall of the water, a faint light from a faraway ship only just visible.

“Do you ever regret leaving Serene?” De Sardet startles at the sound of his voice: they had talked for hours, and it is usual for them to end the night in companionable silence with a shared bottle of drink. She had expected only silence until he left. The question is an odd one, for she knows he has had issues with her before for what he viewed as her being spoilt enough to have everything she could have wanted, and leaving it anyway.

“I do, and I don’t. I regret leaving the way I did, but I could not have left at all otherwise. There were conversations I desperately wanted to have, but which I couldn’t lest they try to stop me from going.”

Vasco nods slowly, and the look on his face tells De Sardet that curiosity was not the reason for the question. “Why, what are you thinking about, Vasco?”

He hands her the bottle of wine, and she takes a long drink out of suspicion that she will need it.

“My new orders. I leave at dawn for the continent, and I’m to head straight to Serene. Need to stay there a couple of months before we head out again.”

It will be his first time back at Serene since she left on his admiral’s ship nearly four years earlier. He is now a captain in his own right, and she a legate using a false name in all correspondence with Serene, and it makes her wonder how far they have come since that fateful night.

Across from her he sighs heavily, snatching back his bottle and taking a drink.

“Listen, De Sardet, I’m not going to lie to you. You’ll find this out tomorrow anyway, when your governor opens her post to find a letter from the Prince d’Orsay telling her that he’s sacking her.” Vasco is to the point, but De Sardet feels fear in her heart. It will be eight months before Morange truly has to leave, but would that put _her_ out of a job as well? What if Morange’s replacement recognised her for who she really was?

“ _What?_ Who on earth would he replace her with? Surely he cannot, she was one of the more trustworthy of the nobles in Serene. I can’t see who he’d replace-…oh.”

Vasco grimaces and hands her back the bottle. Her hands shake as she takes it.

“My orders are to bring Morange’s replacement to Teer Fradee. His name is written all over the documents I’ve been given and my orders are solid. Bring Constantin d’Orsay to New Serene.”

Of all the things Vasco could have said, this is the very last thing she’d have expected. Morange is _good_ at her job, and has cultivated a hard-earned alliance with some of the islanders with her help. New Serene is a world away from Serene in every good way, and though De Sardet loves Constantin she cannot help but wonder at the logic of sending an untrained man to replace a seasoned governor.

But then, how is she to know, truly, whether Constantin is untrained or not? After all, she abandoned him to Serene and his father’s plots without a word of goodbye. He may have been extensively trained for this, for it has been two months short of four years since she left and it will be four and a half by the time he arrives.

What if… What if _Kurt_ is with him? De Sardet feels the dread that settles in her stomach, anxiety masquerading as butterflies at the thought. She’s not sure what would be worse, Kurt coming with her cousin, or Kurt not coming on account of no longer being with the family. Gods, what could she possibly _say_ to them both? De Sardet contemplates throwing herself into the ocean right now to be done with it.

Vasco snatches the bottle back from her.

“You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“I think I might be.” De Sardet swings her leg down and changes her position, both legs hanging over the platform so she can rest her elbows on her knees and hold her head in her hands. Her breaths are measured and deep.

“I thought you’d take this better. Figured you liked your cousin, from how you spoke about him.”

“Just because I like him doesn’t mean I’m jumping for joy at this, Vasco. I take it you’ve no orders to bring a legate along with him?”

There’s no way her uncle would allow Constantin to keep Morange’s legate unless he _knew_ that De Montfort was really her, De Sardet. And _that_ is an incredibly uncomfortable thought. To her dismay, Vasco shakes his head.

“Just the new governor. Won’t get the full passenger list till I’ve docked in Serene, but they wouldn’t have missed that out. Looks like they’re not sacking _you_ yet.”

And really, Vasco almost looks as though he’s enjoying this. He probably is.

“Yes, because I’m really wanting to stay in this job now.”

“Even if you weren’t joking, I’d tell you to shut it. You’ve done some good for New Serene, even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

Those words are flattering coming from him, and De Sardet can only give him a grateful smile even as the dread begins to settle down in her stomach. There is much for her to think on and decide, but tonight isn’t about any of that.

They part nearer to dawn than they should do, both surprisingly sober. Vasco’s arm slung over her neck is slightly tighter than it usually is, and De Sardet is no fool as to the reason why. He has seen her flee from her old life once before, and there is a good chance she may not be here when he returns with her cousin. They’re not quite friends, but there is a potential for it there, though an odd thought strikes her as he removes his arm from her shoulders.

“Why do you suppose that we never became a thing?”

Vasco’s look of surprise is almost amusing, if not for the fact that he doesn’t seem to think twice about the answer.

“Not my type, De Sardet.” His smile is confident, no ill-will or malice behind it, and De Sardet laughs.

“Too much of a noble?”

The atmosphere changes slightly, becomes a little bit tenser as Vasco allows a frown to twist at his lips.

“No. Too much that you're running away from.”

The words make her feel as though a heavy weight has just collided with her chest. Is that truly a fair assessment? Perhaps in his eyes it is; all he has known of her, all she has done, comes on the back of her fleeing from the grasp of those who care for her. Vasco claps her on the shoulder, trying to distract her.

“I’ll see you in eight months, De Sardet.”

“Yes. Make sure they give you a good run for it this time - you’ve not worn that Captain’s coat in nearly as well as you should have!”

He gives her only a sarcastic tip of his hat in response before he is off, up the gangway leading to his ship and out of her sight.

Her sigh is heavy, but she does not linger long. The ship won’t leave for a few more hours, so she gives it one last look before she turns away from the port. Wandering the town in the early hours is perhaps not the best idea, but De Sardet cannot bring herself to return to her empty house and sit, alone, thinking of what the hell is going to hit her in eight month’s time.

So instead she walks the streets, the city that was barely a town when she arrived, the governor’s mansion still being built and the main square barely counting as one at all. It is such a difference from her first day here, when the town was silent, not enough souls to make more than the lightest of sounds. Now, even with the early hour she can hear merchants setting up their stalls, the clatter of the shutters on the bakery being pulled open, the clink of metal armour shifting as the Coin Guard patrol the streets. They are not yet finished, for there are still plenty of buildings to complete, but they have grown beyond what her uncle had expected, and she can only assume it was that which had prompted him to send his son to take over as Governor.

Behind her, the alchemist fiddles with the lock of his shutter, and De Sardet sighs. Things are due to get complicated, and she knows the time will pass in the blink of an eye.

* * *

The hour is late, but neither De Sardet or her campmates are even close to sleeping, with the sky still bright enough to not need the campfire just yet. She would guess that it was around ten, but they’ve yet to wind down.

Siora is only a few metres away in the middle of the river, her trousers rolled up to her knees and a particularly deadly looking spear in her hands. De Sardet holds a hessian bag at the shore, one speared trout already sitting at the bottom of it. Their path back to New Serene will not take them past any more rivers, and De Sardet has never been a fan of game. She stares down at the fish, a frown on her face.

“You look like that fish has done you a personal wrong, miss.” The single coin guard who has been assigned to her on this journey is only young, practically a baby even by her own standards, but he has been chipper enough the last few days despite this being his first proper job. He is also one of the few who does not call her ‘Lady’, which is a refreshing change.

Her frown deepens.

“Reiner, when did we leave San Matheus?”

“Two days ago, miss.”

Ah, so her suspicions are true, then. “And what time do you suppose it is in Serene? Noon?”

He clears his throat gently, and out of the corner of her eye she sees him tense just a little. “I couldn’t quite say, miss.”

“I think it is noon, if I remember my lessons correctly. Which means, right about now, Vasco will be leaving the port of Serene with my cousin in tow. It seems a thousand miles away, and yet their ship sets out today.” Bringing them to her, she thinks. She is not sure if the thought is pleasant or not. It is mostly quite terrifying.

“That not a good thing?” Reiner asks, and De Sardet grimaces.

“Not when my life here has been built under a false name, no. Though most of the nobles here pretend they _don’t_ know who I am out of politeness. The mark on my face is quite undeniable.” She sighs. “Alas, it will be nice to go by De Sardet once more. I was getting tired of De Montfort.”

Beside her, Reiner turns to look at her properly, though there is no surprise on his face.

“You do not seem surprised, Reiner.” She holds the bag out suddenly as Siora moves in one fluid movement, the spear plunging into the water and catching another trout. Water splashes over the three of them as she yanks it out, leaning over to drop it into the bag. De Sardet pulls it off with her bare hands, wiping the blood off on the bag.

“I did my first bit of training in the courtyard of your home in Serene: my mentor was Kurt. I was shipped here quite quickly after I joined the Coin Guard, but I remember your portrait hanging in one of the hallways.”

De Sardet cringes. “The portrait done when I turned eighteen? Horrendous.”

The young guard laughs, and De Sardet hopes that he is assigned to them more often. In the river, Siora snaps her fingers at them.

“Do you want to eat tomorrow? Talking is how I lose the fish.”

They stay quiet after that, settling down once Siora has caught them a third fish to cook for the next day.

De Sardet and Siora never see the young guard again.

* * *

In the month leading up to Constantin’s arrival, trouble begins brewing.

Siora comes to her first, with tales of missing caravans and goods meant for trade that never arrive. It is a tentative thing, the trade between her clan and New Serene, so tentative that only one caravan makes the journey once a week.

It has not arrived in four.

Four missing men. Four missing caravans packed with goods. Suspicion settles in De Sardet’s bones.

The road to New Serene is not as dangerous as the long trek to the other cities, not from where Siora’s clan resides, and evidence begins to point towards the mercenaries who base themselves in New Serene.

So the two women plot, and De Sardet hands Siora a tall bottle with explicit instructions, and De Sardet sets out on her next journey with five of the Coin Guard alongside her usual contingent.

-

Burhan’s throne room is almost empty when she arrives, which gives De Sardet minor relief when she encounters the guards outside the door.

“The governor is not holding court at this hour, my lady.”

“Really? How lovely, the lack of witnesses should really make this less embarrassing for all of us.” Her smile is sickly sweet, but brokers no option for refusal, and the guard sighs heavily before he opens the door. De Sardet strides in, Siora at her side whilst her remaining retinue wait outside the doors.

“Ah, Lady De Montfort. Or is it De Sardet, these days? It is hard to keep track.”

The tone of his voice makes De Sardet want to grit her teeth, but she plasters a friendly smile on nevertheless.

“I decided I would like to acknowledge my close family ties to our new governor, once he arrives.” A threat, one that Burhan does not rise to. She continues. “I have a curious problem of mercenaries attacking native caravans that we’re trying to deal with in New Serene, and I had wondered if you had any knowledge of what was going on? Anything similar happening on your roads?”

Burhan leans back on his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him as he surveys her.

“I’ve heard nothing of the sort up here, I’m afraid.”

De Sardet’s smile is wry. “Ah, that is indeed disappointing.”

Burhan makes a noise of curiosity, tilting his head at De Sardet as she smiles diplomatically at him. He utterly misses the smirk on Siora’s lips, however, as De Sardet briefly excuses herself and heads out into the corridor.

She marches back in a moment later, five Coin Guards behind her, who hold five men that are barely standing and who are bound only loosely enough to walk.

It is truly a fight to keep his expression neutral when he notices that all five prisoners are dressed in Bridge Alliance colours.

“You see, Governor, after the fourth caravan went missing I came up with a little idea, that I’d read before in one of _your_ history books. I sent the fifth caravan on loaded with wines and cheeses, all laced with juice from the poppy. Half a day later we found these _lovely_ gentlemen drugged up to their eyeballs by the side of the road. Fascinating, truly. I never knew men could bend like that when they fall.”

De Sardet smiles brightly, one hand reaching into her jacket. Burhan opens his mouth to protest, but she continues on.

“Oh, and I know that last time I visited there was some confusion on whether or not the Bridge Alliance prisoners I brought back to you were truly Bridge Alliance or simply trussed up mercenaries, but fear not, I brought you proof this time. This excellent chap here-” The sarcasm drips off every cheery word that escapes her mouth, as De Sardet steps back and gently taps the cheek of the youngest soldier. “This chap was so proud of his commission that he still keeps his papers on him. I have them here, for your perusal.” She passes them to Burhan’s steward, who hovers nervously by the throne.

“Lady De Sardet, you have certainly been very thorough. Rest assured, I had no knowledge of what these men were doing and they will be punished accordingly.”

“I do not doubt that, Governor.” De Sardet bows as gracefully as she can muster with the rage bubbling beneath her skin, before she excuses herself and strides out the room with Siora by her side.

They leave quickly, the setting sun warming them once they step outside of the mansion’s doors. De Sardet allows a heavy sigh, and Siora looks at her with her brows furrowed.

“This will not be the end of it, _on ol menawi_."

“No, I don’t suspect it will be.”

* * *

De Sardet tosses and turns the night before Vasco is due to return to New Serene, and she wishes beyond anything that she could claim the reason to be bad weather.

But alas, the night is a lovely and calm one, barely a sound outside her window, but she has remained wide awake all the same. At one point she moves her chamberpot to beside her bed out of fear she’ll throw her half-eaten dinner up into it. It’s an uncomfortable, long first sleep lying awake in her bed, and she begins her second sleep more tired and agitated than before.

Tomorrow she will see Constantin for the first time in years, her fair cousin. Her loyalties will change from Morange back to him, where she is expected to begin her role as his legate without so much as an explanation for her own absence. What if he does not forgive her for leaving? What if he dislikes her for it?

Will he be alone, or will Kurt be with him? _That_ particular reunion is possibly the only thing that takes her mind off the one with Constantin, if only because it worries her _more_. Constantin’s trust and love has been a constant all her life, no matter the mistakes she has made, but Kurt? The man is apt to throw all prior trust between them to the wind, and she does not wish to have to spend years building it back up.

Morning does not bring an easier mood, and De Sardet skips her breakfast as the nausea rocks back and forth inside her. The ship can arrive at any minute, so she heads to the port in anticipation.

A naut hands her a spyglass when she arrives at the port, accompanied by a messenger who is to alert Morange once the ship is about to dock. She looks in the direction he points, seeing several ships far on the horizon. They are nothing but tiny dots without the spyglass, certainly a while off, so De Sardet settles herself against the barrels and waits.

The ship completes its docking at noon on the dot, no doubt due to Vasco’s steadfast punctuality, and De Sardet straightens as the gangway is attached to the ship. She is absolutely certain that she would have vomited had she eaten breakfast, for a multitude of reasons she can barely process. There, at the ready and standing next to Vasco, are two figures she would recognise even in the depth of madness. Constantin’s shock of bright blond hair is noticeable even from where she stands, his body language almost antsy as they attach the gangway.

Next to him, equally recognisable by the ramrod-straightness of his posture, is Kurt.

She stands up properly, no longer leaning on the barrels, and pulls at the front of her travelling jacket to appear slightly smarter. Morange had asked her to wear her finest Legate outfit, but De Sardet is not willing to appear as though she has been sitting on her arse for the last four years, and so she wears her smart but well-worn travelling clothes. Across from her, clad in her finest red dress, Morange does not look like she approves.

There is a moment of alarm, when De Sardet schools her expression into a neutral one and clasps her hands behind her back, and the doctors who swarm her enthusiastic cousin nearly smother him in their haste to get him to drink the new health concoction.

Time slows nearly to a halt when Constantin, halfway through an insult as he presses a hand to one of their shoulders, finally notices her. His mouth falls open, bright eyes locking on hers with an intense scrutiny that _almost_ makes her flinch. A doctor moves too close to him, and with a violent shove Constantin pushes both of them out of his way with no care for the noise the bowls make when they clatter to the floor.

He stares at her for only a few moments, as fear and a tentative happiness fight it out in her stomach. The disbelief is clear in his face, and out of the corner of her eye she can see Kurt stopping in his tracks right behind Constantin.

But De Sardet keeps her gaze on her cousin for now, who looks torn between joy and confusion, and she nods her head in permission. The spell breaks.

“Cousin!” In four long strides he is at her side, sweeping her into his arms and pulling her to him in a bruising hug that knocks the breath out of her. She nearly topples over from the force of his embrace, her senses completely overwhelmed with the familiar smell and feel of _Constantin._ Somewhere inside of her, a part she had locked away wants to weep into the rich fabric of his coat. All the worry and fear she’d had of him rejecting her, and in less than thirty seconds all of those worries have been wiped away.

“I’ve missed you, cousin.” His words are quiet and oddly vulnerable, whispered into her ear as he holds her tight. It is a comforting hold, though she cannot quite believe how much _bigger_ he is. When she left Serene he had still been somewhat lanky and scrawny, but four and a half years has sharpened his face and filled his body out in much the same way that it has hers. She feels the hug soften, as Constantin grips her by the arms and pushes himself away, using it to look at her properly.

“I missed you too, Constantin.” De Sardet says it quickly, and Constantin grins.

“Look at you! I could barely recognise you, you’re so… _grown up_.”

“I could say the same to you. Where did those shoulders come from?” Her smile is soft, possibly the softest it has been since she arrived in New Serene, and the lightness in her heart makes her practically buoyant.

“Kurt made me do all your exercises on top of my own.” Constantin winks as he speaks, but before anything more can be said, Morange appears at their elbow.

“I see you’ve already met and recognised your Legate, governor. If you’ll follow me, I can show you around New Serene and get you some more of the fortifiers that will help you to survive on Teer Fradee.”

“What fortifiers? Cousin, did you need them when you arrived?”

De Sardet frowns, and shakes her head.

“I did not.”

“Do the Nauts take it when they land?”

“Well, no, but as they are rarely _on_ land-“ To her chagrin, Constantin cuts Morange off halfway through her speaking.

“Then I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you Lady Morange. I didn’t suffer on the journey here, and I’m feeling positively radiant right now.”

Morange looks sceptical, but sweeps Constantin away nevertheless. De Sardet watches them go with a smirk on her lips, knowing that Morange will keep him occupied for hours and that Constantin, if he has not changed, will barely listen.

There is the soft sound of someone clearing their throat, and De Sardet forces herself to turn. She knows full well what she will see; Kurt, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, carefully controlled annoyance visible in every line in his face. _This_ is the reunion she feared more than Constantin, knowing he will be disappointed in her for leaving the way she had, and never sending word.

But instead, when De Sardet turns to look at him, none of her expectations are true. The world does not slow as it had with Constantin, but it certainly blurs, and when De Sardet looks back on the memory she will barely remember a single person on the busy dock. His eyes are sharp and piercing, but there is no anger or disappointment in his stance.

Kurt looks at her as though it is the first time he sees her, and she feels his gaze on her as he examines her, comparing everything he sees to everything he remembers. De Sardet is downright _shocked_ to see what she suspects is attraction in his gaze, and she watches carefully as he swallows thickly.

“Green Blood.” His voice is strong, but she can detect a hint of hoarseness in it. She can’t help but smile, for it has been a _long_ time since she has seen him, and she can honestly say she has missed him. “You look well.”

“As do you, Kurt.”

He pauses, opening his mouth to speak before closing it once more, uncertain of what to say. De Sardet stands straighter, almost to attention. She has always been of a height with him, unable to be intimidated down by the size of him alone, though at this moment she feels about two feet tall.

Opposite her, there is a funny feeling unfurling in his stomach, a strong suspicion that takes root in his mind. Half cautious, half angry, Kurt removes the letter given to him by the Princess De Sardet that is still safely tucked away in his inner pocket. The neat curly writing on the front addresses it to Lady Morange, but Kurt rips the wax seal off with his fingernails and is suddenly not surprised in the least to find a second sealed envelope within.

The name on _this_ envelope is that of the woman opposite him, and he forces himself to restrain from throwing it at her. De Sardet watches him, and he notices that she does not look curious, but full of dread. Clearly, then, this is not the first time that the Princess De Sardet had sent a letter to her daughter hidden inside an envelope to Morange.

Kurt finds his voice, and it is no longer hoarse.

“What are you doing here, Green Blood? _Why_ are you here?” He waves the letter, which she plucks out of his hands. “What does _this_ mean?”

“You know damn well what it means, Kurt.” She tucks the letter inside the small pack that is attached to her belt, with such little fanfare that Kurt doesn’t know what to say. “I am here, Kurt, because I took the decision over four years ago to leave Serene for pastures new. What I am _doing_ , is greeting the new governor, seeing as I am the Legate of the Merchant Congregation and have been since about a month after I stepped foot on this island.”

There are too many questions that those words bring up, and they create a mass of confusion in his brain. The Legate, he had been told, was called De _Montfort_ , and four years ago De Sardet’s only way of getting here was via the _Nauts_ , and they had sworn blind that she wasn’t on their ships. Someone, somewhere, had orchestrated this whole web of lies, and he had spent months with Constantin searching for her only for her to have merely been here the whole time.

De Sardet sighs. “Kurt, I will tell you the truth of it all one day, but not here. Too many eyes and ears.”

To his absolute and utter surprise she steps forward, her arms easily slipping around his neck as she pulls him close for an embrace. Her fingers twist tightly in the fabric at the scruff of his neck, her mouth turned ever so slightly towards his ear, and he would almost believe it to be real if not for the warning look she gives as she moves closer.

As it stands, her mouth is hidden from any watchers by the deep rim of his hat, and she doesn’t hesitate to use the advantage.

“Do not let Constantin or yourself take any fortifiers you may be offered. I will make you some myself.” The warning is short but clear, and he makes a mental note to refuse anything not offered by a member of staff in the mansion itself. Clearly she thinks a plot is afoot, and he guiltily thinks of the letter he carries from one commander of the Coin Guard to another.

Their brief embrace ends, and Kurt nods politely before he follows the path Constantin and Morange had taken. De Sardet waits at the docks, watching them leave, before her attention turns to a horrendously pissed-off Vasco.

They walk slowly towards the Governor’s Mansion, Kurt walking somewhere in the middle between the two pairs of Morange and Constantin, and De Sardet and Vasco. Before anyone can ascend the steps, however, the steady calm is broken by a whirl of green and browns heading towards them. It takes De Sardet a moment to recognise the frantic runner as Siora, as Kurt moves to block her from getting any closer to his charge. Siora bats his arm away and slips past easily, stopping in front of De Sardet and struggling to catch her breath.

Kurt does not understand much of their conversation, but the severity of it is immediately understood by the way De Sardet’s face turns ashen, her eyes darting between Siora and the two governors watching them warily from the steps. The two women become a flurry of movement, as De Sardet rushes into her home to grab a pre-packed travelling pack. Vasco checks his blade and does a brief inspection of his gun as De Sardet straps her own scabbard to her side whilst swapping her travelling coat for a heavy leather one.

Kurt grabs De Sardet’s arm before she can storm away, a question in his expression that she still manages to understand. She only shakes her head, however, and flickers her eyes in the direction of Constantin and Morange.

“I mean it, Kurt. Not a _morsel_ of anything that is not prepared by my staff, until I return.”

Kurt nods, wondering what has set off her suspicion, but has no time to ask before the three of them are gone.


End file.
